


Getting over trauma isn't like ripping off a bandaid

by Skaiaa



Series: The other side of the screen [1]
Category: Youtube RPF, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Dark is tired, Mild Language, The Jims are angels and I love them, Wilford is confused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13318992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaiaa/pseuds/Skaiaa
Summary: After months of Dark and Wilford ignoring their creator, they've been rounded up by Mark, and a conversation that is long overdue finally comes to lightOtherwise known as: Mark approaches his most tortured muses and tries to make things better





	Getting over trauma isn't like ripping off a bandaid

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the beginning of a small series of Mark interacting with his characters, but I'm not sure

Dark rested on his side, perched on the couch, holding a book, spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose, tired grey eyes reading the words dancing on the page as his fellow Egos scream jovially in the other room. Their maker had joined them at the house, but Wilford and Dark did not approach him and had not done so for what was going on almost four months now. Seeing as Mark could come and go as he pleased, they didn’t feel the need to come toward him, like all the other Egos. Now, it could be the hurt they went through rearing its head, but the two eldest Egos weren’t enthralled, as they once were. The magic had worn off.

There was a knock on his door and Dark flicked a gaze toward it, weighing the options of who it could be in his presence. Mark knew better than to tread his grounds, the Jim twins were terrified of him, William usually just burst right in, and no one else really bothered to find out where he hid out in the manor. Fine by him, it gave the man more time to think. 

He tried not to think often, given that there were screaming voices in his mind, his shell fighting with itself, influencing his behavior, but was trying to embrace it for New Years, despite the fact that he hadn’t indulged in such nonsense for many, many years. Wilford had dragged him out of the manor to embrace the cold on Christmas, and they had time to speak about what had happened in the past. He had suggested Dark, called Damien on accident once, and Celine another time, embrace the voices in his head and try to meet a compromise.

Dark had shoved him off the bench they had been sitting on and teleported back home at his ridiculous notion.

Wilford had teleported after him, covered in snow, and threatened him at gunpoint to admit what was bothering him. Drastic, but it worked, and the two had been trying to fix their formerly frayed relationship since then.

There was another knock and Dark rolled his eyes, going back to reading before freezing as he caught the sound of breathing and shuffling on the other side of the door, sensing a vast amount of nerves. 

There was something else there, however. Something familiar...Something candy-coated.

The creator and Wilford.

He had thought Mark was smart enough to stay away.

The demon got up, snapping his book shut and brushing himself down as he sent his novel back to his bedside table, eyeing his cane before shaking his head and heading to the door, opening it and staring out at his own personal demon, and his old friend.

Mark shifted tiredly on his feet, biting his lip as he was faced down by the eyes of fear itself, shrinking slightly as he fought the urge to run. This was his creation, and he had hurt him. He had every right to be pissed.

Dark glared at his creator and spared a glance at his friend, who was a little ways away, watching Mark for any signs of betrayal.

“What do you fucking want,” the Demon Ego bit out coldly.

“I..”

“You what?”

“Dark, please..”

There was a scuffling of feet and Dark became aware that a few of the other Egos were wondering where their creator had gone. The Jim twins were peering down the hall, confused, but filming nonetheless.

He curled his lip and fought the urge to strangle the muse in front of him before opening his door partly and stepping aside, poofing the cane back into its box, and making room on the couch for his creator to sit.

Wilford tilted his head and Dark rolled his eyes, inviting him in as well, shutting the door after them, fighting a smirk as the sound of the Jims hurrying off echoed faintly in his mind.

Wilford propped himself against Dark’s dresser, resting a hand on his hip, ankles crossed.

Dark remained standing by the door, leaving a fair bit of distance between Mark and himself.

“Speak.”

Mark sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Dark, Wilford, it has been months since that skit, and you’re still mad at me...I mean, I understand...Kinda?”

Dark narrowed his eyes, crossing his wrists behind his back, straightening up a bit more, glaring at Mark.

“And what, exactly, do you understand,” The Demon challenged.

Mark shrunk a bit more before gulping and straightening back up. He shouldn’t be afraid. This was his creation. He could erase him, if he truly wanted to.

Dark heard his thoughts and, with widening eyes, grew just a tad bit more hostile, shell sparking and threatening to burst, baring his teeth.

Wilford immediately hopped over to calm him down, glaring over his shoulder at their creator, who looked equal parts confused and scared, not understanding why Dark had suddenly become so volatile. 

Dark pushed the pinkstached man away, calming himself as best as he could. Mark probably hadn’t realized he could hear his thoughts. The Host and himself shared that attribute, surprisingly enough.

“What do you want, Fischbach,” Dark asked again, eyes hard, voice like sharp ice as he aimed to strike the other into a fearful cycle.

“I-I wanted to apologize,” the raven-haired man finally explained, voice shaking and cracking as Dark stared straight into his being, unblinking, unmoving.

“Yes, because words can undo the carnage you reigned,” the Demon spoke cooly.

“I know I fucked up!” Mark yelled, squeezing his eyes shut and tearing his gaze away.

“At least you admit it,” Wilford said simply, fiddling with a gun in his pocket, testing to see if he needed to load it or not. It was pretty full.

Mark sighed and looked at them once more, chewing on his bottom lip in thought as the two remained unphased, side by side.

“Listen, you two are the closest things I have to kids, and I don’t always want you at my throat when I come to visit the manor!”

Dark and Wilford raised a brow.

“Are we not just a product of the environment you tossed us carelessly into?”

“I gave you a backstory!”

Dark let out a cold, harsh laugh, running a hand through his messy hair, pushing it back from his face before stalking to the other side of the room, stiff, and uneven, glitching as the voices in his head recognized just who was in their presence.

“You gave /me/ a backstory. You destroyed the Colonel.”

Mark wilted slightly, chewing on his thumbnail as Warfstache raised a brow, confused.

“The Colonel?”

Mark looked up, a pained expression on his face as he fumbled to explain what he had done.

Wilford was tilting his head, fairly confused as to what was going on, and why the tension was so high.

Dark let out a deep, melodically terrifying laugh as he realized what was going on.

“You can’t even tell him? Can you?”

“Tell me what? What the dickens is going on?”

“Nothing, old friend,” Dark eventually lied, seeing as Mark was looking at his feet, flushed with shame.

“Alright...If you say so,” the journalist said, skeptical of everything being said at this point.

“William, you should go be merry with the others,” Dark suggested suddenly.

“But-”

“The Jims were touching your investigative shit again,” Mark butted it.

“I’ll kill them!”

Wilford teleported out of the room and Dark turned to face Mark again.

“What did you actually want, Mark?”

The man looked up at his creation, sighing heavily before getting up and walking toward him. Dark backed away, but Mark sped up. Dark backpedaled into his wall, and Mark boxed him in.

The Demon growled, lifting his arm to strike the other before he felt a strange warmth envelope him.

Incredulously, the demon looked down, mouth agape as Mark, the man who had ruined his entire life, was hugging him??

Dark tried shoving him away and his arms were grabbed and pressed to his sides as Mark hugged him tighter.

The two voices in his head fought with each other, one wanting to embrace the affection of an old friend, the other yelling about how this was a trap. Dark told them both to shut the fuck up, he was trying to think.

Mark eventually let him go, smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry Damien...I’m sorry Celine…”

Dark struck him across the face and the creator fell to the floor, clutching his reddening cheek.

“Okay, I deserved that.”

“You deserve a lot more, but they’re pleased enough with that,” Dark said simply.

Mark picked himself back up, putting his glasses back on his face before sighing again.

“Quit sighing, your life isn’t nearly bad enough for that.”

Mark chuckled a bit, suddenly nervous.

“So, um...We...Okay?”

“Oh, not at all, but I won’t murder you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh,” the Asian creator squeaked out meekly.

“Take it or leave it.”

Dark stretched, wincing as his neck popped, hissing as he stilled it.

The two spent a few moments in silence, listening to the occasional jovial sound from across the way, reverberating through the walls.

“..Does it bother you?” Mark asked quietly, sparing a glance at his eldest Ego.

Dark was surprised by the timid voice echoing in his mostly empty room.

“Does what bother me?”

“Your neck.”

The demon sat down in a chair to the side, crossing his hands in his lap.

“Yes.”

Mark sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Shit dude... So, I fucked up your walking, and your neck?”

“Walking, neck, thoughts, lack of feelings, ability to control emotions...The list goes on,” Dark admitted, unsure why he was saying anything to this man.

“Hmm...Okay, so, that needs to be fixed, I guess..”

Dark raised a brow.

Mark was jotting something down before putting it back in his pocket and getting up, extending a hand to his darker half, slightly fearful, but not nearly as much as before.

The demon looked at him, perplexed.

“Come on, there’s this huge video with all the Egos playing Cards Against Humanity with me going on right now, and, if Warfy hasn’t killed anyone, it should still be joinable.”

“..Mark...We’re not..We’re not friends.”

“Friends or not, you need a break from being broody.”

Dark looked unamused and Mark rubbed the back of his neck, drawing his hand back before yelping when it was grabbed, raising a brow and helping Dark up anyway.

The demon summoned his cane and followed Mark from the room, albeit a bit reluctantly.

Mark let out a sigh of relief and walked to the main room, a skip in his step.

Maybe this wouldn’t go too bad?

**Author's Note:**

> Have I mentioned that Damien and The Colonel deserved better yet? Because they deserved so, so much better than what they got


End file.
